


Almost Perfect

by ItsTeatimeSomewhere



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexuality, Fluff, Gen, Graffiti, Homelessness, M/M, Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 21:28:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3993478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsTeatimeSomewhere/pseuds/ItsTeatimeSomewhere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most people don't appreciate the graffiti of dicks going up around the neighbourhood, but Harry is intrigued.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost Perfect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Hi lovely! I hope you enjoy this fic!!!! Thanks as always to my amazing beta for all their hard work!!!

Harry wasn’t posh. Well. Okay, maybe he was, but he wasn’t a snob. Just because his mum spent more time at Selfridges than her home and Gemma was off studying law at Harvard and took the private jet home every other week, that didn’t mean Harry was a snob. Sure, he lived in Marylebone, but that’s just because Belgravia was too stuffy and he was sick of living in his mum’s attic.

But, Harry was just a normal guy. Not like in those magazines that take sneaky pictures of Selena Gomez at a yoghurt shop proclaiming “she’s just like you!” No, Harry went to class and walked his dog, avoided his homework and ate Pot Noodles when he was too lazy to cook himself dinner or ring the Thai restaurant down the street.

He also sat on the Marylebone Neighbourhood Wellness Committee, but that was just in his free time. And he did love the city, so it felt nice to be useful in giving back.

With Nick on the committee with him, Harry was never bored at meetings. No matter how stuffy the older folks would get, talking about foot traffic and the horrendous state of youth these days, Nick would always pipe up with a loud, obnoxious comment that made Harry snicker into his hand. Aside from Nick’s snark, however, the Marylebone Neighbourhood Wellness Committee had become stagnant. Or perhaps, Harry contemplated one morning, it always had been.

“All in favor of bringing up the issue of the lack of rose bushes in Regent’s Park to the next Royal Parks meeting?”

A mumble of “ayes” along with a groan from Nick rose up around Harry.

“Um, aye, but also, could we move on?” Harry interrupted as Marcy Pinkman scratched something down in her ancient notebook.

“What do you mean, Mr. Styles?” she asked, frowning at him from behind her horned-rimmed glasses.

“Well, as interesting as,” Harry glanced down at the agenda, “Devonshire Street parking is, can’t we make a real impact on this neighbourhood? I know we haven’t any real judicial power, but I bet it we made a strong argument, we could actually make this city a better place.”

“Brava, Mr. Styles!” Nick shouted, standing and applauding loudly. “Such eloquence! I’m moved to tears!” He swiped a finger underneath his eye, brushing it on old Mr. Beasley’s sweater next to him.

“Mr. Grimshaw, please sit down,” Marcy Pinkman reprimanded. Turning to Harry, she continued. “Now, Mr. Styles. While your passion for this city does not go unnoticed, you are right in assuming we do not have the legislative power nor influence to involve ourselves in circles of government. Rather, we should continue to make Marylebone a lovely place to live for those of us seated around this table and our associates.”

The twenty or so people surrounding them murmured in agreement.

Marcy smiled. “Why are you bringing this up now? Surely you do not have any concern about the quality of life here, Mr. Styles?”

Harry blushed, pulling at his shirtsleeves. “Well, I was walking home from the pub the other night, and I noticed a lot of homeless people? Like, I know you see them in Covent Garden or whatnot, but I’ve been seeing more and more people in Marylebone, you know? I mean, there must be something we can do about it.”

Mr. Beasley frowned. “The lad’s right! I’ve been seeing more of those beggars right in front of my door! Haven’t they got things in place to stop these people from just plopping down wherever they like?”

His gruff voice woke up a few other voices at the table, and soon a discussion was being laid out at the problem that Harry felt they could really solve. With all the money and influence around this table, Harry was sure they could do something to at least lessen the homeless problem, if not get rid of it completely in Marylebone.

He was feeling rather good about himself, until the beady-eyed Laura Fitzgerald broke in.

“In Euston, I’ve seen these spikes, yeah? They put them on benches and under storefront windows to keep people from sleeping there. What if we figured a way to get some of those around Marylebone? That would definitely dissuade the riffraff.”

“Well, that’s not really what I was thinking--” Harry tried to break in, but everyone immediately latched on to Laura’s idea, ignoring Harry’s broken comments.

“Order, please,” Marcy said, raising her voice only slightly. “Mr. Wallingford, you have influence with the mayor, correct? Might you be able to contact him about this?”

Geoffry Wallingford nodded, and Harry had to stifle a laugh as he spoke. Curse Nick and his constant doodles of Wallingford as a walrus, which wasn’t a far off comparison.

“Of course. I’m sure we can get something done. Thank you, Mr. Styles. This was a brilliant idea. I’ll see about putting out a press release to get the public’s opinion on the situation, but I feel confident in saying that we will have the majority on our side.”

Other people began smiling at Harry as well, and he couldn’t help but feel a pit forming in his stomach.

On their way out of the meeting, Nick took delight in Harry’s discomfort.

“Honestly, Harry, did you really think they wanted to help out all the poor people in the city? No one in that room gives a rat’s arse about anyone without a dozen silk ties--and not the ones I know you keep under your bed, naughty.”

Harry ignored the last comment, running a hand through his hair. “How could they have misunderstood, though? I mean, obviously I don’t want to hurt anyone! I just--”

He continued to splutter as Nick walked with him down the busy streets.

“Haz, just calm down. ‘S not that big of a deal, and I doubt anything will happen. We’ll all forget about it in a day and your conscious will be clear.”

He tugged on Harry’s shoulder, pulling him close as they wove between tourists and shoppers. “Want to grab a pint? You deserve it after such a stressful morning.”

“Can we make it a Riesling over at the Landau? ‘M not really in the mood for real drinks.”

Nick laughed and steered them towards the Landau. “Of course, Haz. Anything to satisfy your ever-expanding European palate.”

xx

Harry didn’t end up thinking about the homelessness issue until the next committee meeting. Nearly a month had passed, and Harry had been busy with exams, avoiding anything that wasn’t related to the Aeneid. However, Mr. Wallingford began the meeting with startling news.

“I’ve been vandalised!” He proclaimed, calling order to the table. Nick was mysteriously absent--probably sleeping off a late night--so Harry had no choice but to listen to Mr. Wallingford’s bemoaning.

“Have you seen the crude art? On the wall of my building, someone’s graffitied the most egregious and disgusting phallic symbol I’ve seen! And in our neighbourhood!”

“Oh yes, I saw that the other day,” Mrs. Beasley interjected, tutting. “The youth, we really cannot condone such behavior.”

Once Marcy called order, however, the vandals were forgotten and the group moved on to more important issues:  breeds of dogs allowed on sidewalks during rush hour.

But as Harry left the meeting and made his way back to his flat, he noticed a design of paint on the wall of Marcy’s building as well. Similar to Wallingford’s, it was a crude--albeit rather accurate--rendition of a penis rising majestically overtop a bed of spikes. Underneath the image, “the homeless are fucked because of you” was scrawled in uneven handwriting.

Appalled as he was that someone would deface a building, Harry was silently cheering on the artist, hoping it might change the committee’s mind on the situation.

As weeks passed, even the graffiti didn’t change the committee’s perspective on the situation. Worse, they had managed to get others in Marylebone involved on the issues.

“What’ve I done?” Harry bemoaned, slouching on the couch as Nick poured them some wine. “All I wanted was to make a difference. And I’ve fucked everything up.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Harry. Sure, you’ve royally screwed a bunch of people with nowhere to live, but c’mon. Cut yourself a little slack.” Nick chuckled, handing Harry a glass filled to the brim with Merlot.

“Y’know, I think this might be too much for the glass. Aren’t you supposed to let it breathe or something?” Harry muttered, taking a sip.

Nick chugged down half his glass. “What are you, some kind of wine connoisseur?” He smacked his lips, and Harry didn’t think the situation warranted his mentioning his sommelier training. Wasn’t worth Nick taking the piss out of him for being a posh bastard. Which he wasn’t, by the way.

“I just, there’s got to be a way to change this. The vote isn’t for a week or so, isn’t it? That’s enough time to change peoples’ minds.  It’s got to be.”

Nick just rolled his eyes. “Stop worrying, Harry. God, you’ll make me stressed. Now, did you hear about the graffiti artist? Apparently he hit up Fitz Beasley’s place too. Same picture and everything, it’s wonderful.” He giggled.

“How do you know it’s a guy? It could be a girl, y’know.”

“I’m sorry if I offended your liberal sensibilities, Haz,” Nick simpered, pulling a pout. “If it turns out to be a girl, you can kick my sexist arse, how about that?”

Harry just groaned, taking a sip of his wine. “Just...turn something on. I need a distraction.”

“You know I’m always available, dear,” Nick replied with a wink, reaching for the remote.

xx

Two bottles of wine later, Harry was on his way home from Nick’s flat. Though it was late, the warm air had Harry smiling as he ambled down the street. Yawning, he turned onto his block, seeing a figure standing near his building. As he got closer, he noticed the figure was dressed in all black with hood covering his head.

“Hey, what are you doing?” He called, noticing something in the figure’s hand.

Even when the person turned their head, their face was hidden in the shadows. They pivoted and began sprinting down the alley next to Harry’s building, and Harry jogged over to the wall.

Paint dripping in a rather obscene fashion, a lifelike penis graced the white wall. Harry’s mouth fell open, and started after the artist.

“Hey! Wait! I just want to talk,” he shouted, pulling a tight corner as the chase carried down side streets. The figure didn’t stop, dodging through alleys and over rubbish bins.

Finally, as Harry begins to run out of energy, the figure's sweatshirt catches on a fencepost, and they are dragged back. They tug on the sleeve, glancing back at Harry every few seconds as the latter catches up.

“Don’t run, I honestly am not upset. Well, I am, but, like, I don’t want to turn you in or anything,” Harry rambles, approaching with his hands up.

“The fuck d’ya want, then?” Their voice was gruff, with a northern accent.

“Really, just to talk. You’ve done all the graffiti across Marylebone, yeah?”

The figure nodded hesitantly, arm still caught in the fence.

“Well, I can’t condone what you’re doing because it’s illegal, but, I get why. And I’m upset too. This whole situation is so--”

The figure laughed. “Like you know anything, rich boy. Get off your high horse and realize what your stupid committee is doing to this city.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen!”

“Doesn’t matter, it’s happening.”

“Well, can’t I help you? I could be an asset-”

“I don’t need your help. What would you even do?”

“I dunno, we could start a grassroots campaign? Do something with the homeless here to like protest?”

The person chuckled, jiggling their arm once more and finally releasing their sleeve from the fence.

“First of all, that’s the stupidest idea ever. Second, why would anyone on the streets want to be associated with a twat like you? Third, that’s the stupidest idea ever.”

Harry frowned. “I just want to help. As irritated as the other members are by your art, it’s not enough to change their minds. I mean, if we got a big enough campaign-”

“They’re rich old bastards and nothing’s going to change their mind about the homeless, y’idiot.”

Harry shrunk in on himself. “Well, I mean, what if you just got one of them? Each person on that committee has enough sway with at least a few MPs to stop something from happening. By the way, can’t I know your name?”

The person chuckled darkly. “I’m not going to tell you my name, stupid. Why would I do that?”

“Because I want to help you? I mean...I’m not going to turn you in or anything.”

They shrugged. “Sorry, kid. Y’seem nice, promise, but I’ve really got to go. Thanks for not arresting me, I guess.”

“Um, you’re welcome, I guess? But--”

The figure took off, fading into the darkness. Downtrodden, Harry began the walk back to his building, grimacing at the penis on the wall. The other tenants were not going to be happy about that.

The next day, Harry was too busy to wash the art off his wall, thanks to his mother. Well, he also kind of enjoyed the looks his building got, but he couldn’t very well explain that to his landlord. Rather, he was busy with school and community service. Each month, Harry and his mother visited The Church Army to serve dinner and hand out blankets to the homeless who stayed there. He wanted to get his mum to support the shelter more often, hoping her influence might sway the opinions of a few people on the council. However, when he brought it up, his mum simply smiled, folding blankets beside him.

“Harry, you must calm down with this political activism. What’s got you so riled up? We’re doing our charitable duty, and I already give generously. Must you pressure me?” She sighed.

“Well, I just--I mean they want to put spikes on the streets! Even you’ve got to see how awful that is!”

“They can just move to another street, or stay at a church or shelter like this, dear.”

Harry groaned, putting down his pile of blankets and going to help out in the food line. He loved his mum, really, but she had grown up in a sheltered community and hadn’t really strayed far, especially after meeting his father her first year of Uni and dropping out to raise a family. But even with all her grace and charm, she was still in the dark about a lot of things, including homelessness, apparently.

Harry reached the long table, taking over for an elderly gentleman who was ladling out soup. He smiled at each person who walked up, making pleasant conversation or giving them a compliment, making them feel welcome. Most often, he got a mumbled thank you or nothing at all, but he didn’t mind.

One boy stuck out. Instead of shying away, he made direct eye contact with Harry, something that was odd enough in the shelter. When he took his bowl from Harry, he gave a cursory nod, and Harry noticed the spider web tattoo covering his left hand.

“Nice tat,” he mentioned, smiling.

The boy bit his lip, staying silent. He tilted his head, as if studying Harry.

“Um...do you come here often?” Harry asked awkwardly. Instead of answering, the boy gave him a quick smile, held up the bowl of soup, and moved on down the line.

Harry was slightly embarrassed at the amount of time his eyes followed the boy that night. He stayed rather separated from the group, not making any conversation. Although that was fairly normal, this boy didn’t seem quiet. Something about him was thrumming with energy, and Harry was intrigued. Sadly, he had no time to approach the boy again, helping to clean up and walking out with his mother without saying another word.

Harry washed the offensive art off his building at the express instructions of the landlord the day after. All the while, he thought of the figure in the hoodie. There was something intriguing about him, something that made Harry think he was more than just a graffiti artist.

So Harry set to work tracking them down. He compiled a list of everyone who had been vandalized by the figure, marking the houses on a map of Marylebone. After hours of staring at the map and a good amount of guessing, Harry decided that the figure would hit Joanne Thimble’s building next. He begged off going to the pub with Nick, instead donning a dark coat and huddling on the corner of Joanne’s street, an eye constantly on her doorway. His eyes began to droop, yawns becoming more pronounced as the night wore on. By three in the morning, no one had shown up, and Harry had been approached by the police four times asking why he was hovering around. He decided to give up, falling into bed fully-clothed.

Nick proceeded to laugh his head off the next day when Harry made them breakfast as an apology for not going out with him.

“Wait, so you just stood outside her house for six hours? What kind of creeper are you?” Nick wiped tears out of his eyes.

“It wasn’t like that!” Harry protested, “I just wanted to see them again, yeah? I thought I had it all worked out; I was so sure they’d be at Joanne’s!” He flipped the omelettes, moving them onto plates.

“The part of the neighbourhood they’ve been operating in is where all of us who’ve been hit live! They have a zone, y’see?” He put down the two plates, pulling the wrinkled map out of his pocket.

“Harry, you’re talking about him-”

Harry glared.

“-Them, fine, as if it’s a bank heist! Gracious, can’t you let’em go?”

“If you keep making fun of me I won’t give you your omelette,” Harry threatened, holding the plate above Nick’s head.

“Fine! I fully support your efforts to stalk this mysterious person who draws dicks across Marylebone. Whatever. Please?” He reached his hands up, snagging the plate from Harry and digging in.

“So, should I go back to Joanne’s tonight or someone else?” Harry mused, studying his map. “On one hand, I might’ve just been a day late, but maybe they’re not going to go to Joanne’s ever? What if there’s other criteria for how they choose? Maybe it has to do with income? Mrs. Trimple’s rather rich…”

“Ugh, just pick someone,” Nick groaned through a mouthful of omelette. “Pick who you hate the most, maybe you and this wackjob think in common.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but looked at the names on the map. Who did he hate the most on the committee?

Nick’s greasy finger landed on the map smudging over a name. “Honestly? You have to think about it? Barnabutt Paxton, obviously.”

Harry sighed. Once again, Nick was right. Barnabus Paxton was one of the more...conservative members of the committee. He had made his dislike of Harry and Nick’s sensibilities very public at multiple meetings. Added to the fact that he was simply a pain in the arse, he was Harry’s least-favourite member by a long shot.

Once he had decided, Harry hoped that the figure would hate Paxton as much as nearly everyone else in the neighbourhood. He spent the day napping in an attempt to stay up as late as possible, even as Nick drew dicks on his eyebrows.

“They’ll like that you took an interest in their art! You can even mention how into dick you are. It’ll show dedication.”

After unsuccessfully trying to wipe off the marker, Harry resigned himself to looking like an idiot. Luckily, as it got darker, most people stopped giving him odd looks.

Finally, as the streets grew silent and the cold began to set in, a figure in black slinked up to Paxton’s building.

“Hey!” he hissed, moving towards the person. Rather than running like last time, the figure flinched, but groaned when they realized who Harry was.

“What the fuck are you doing here? Stalking me now?” They muttered.

“No! Honestly, I just want to talk to you. You’re really interesting, yeah?” Harry took a step closer, and the figure backed away.

“Don’t forgive me if I don’t trust you…” they said warily. They picked up the spraycan, about to add more to the design on the wall when Harry noticed a tattoo.

“Hey, what’s that on your hand?” He lunged forward, grabbing the person’s wrist and pushing the sweatshirt back. It was the same spider web tattoo from the boy at the homeless shelter the other day.

“You’re...you’re him.”

“Congrats, you’ve found my identity. What the fuck do you want now?” he spit, wrenching his arm back.

“Uh, a name? I wasn’t joking earlier, I’d really like to know you better.”

The boy pulled down his hood, obviously irritated that his cover was blown. Although he had just seen him the other day, Harry was struck by how...pretty the boy looked. Sharp lines, thin lips, brilliant eyes. Even in the darkness they seemed to shine.

“You really don’t want to know me, mate. We’re not really from the same world.”

“That shouldn’t matter,” Harry retorted. “I mean, you must have, y’know, thoughts and opinions and stuff. And I want to hear them. I mean, I could give you stuff, too, like a place to stay, or money, or--”

“I don’t want your fucking money! I want you to leave me alone, can’t you get it?” The words were biting and harsh

Harry pulled in a shuddering breath. “I don’t get it. Why...I’m sorry. I’ll, um, I’ll leave you alone, I guess.” He wiped a tear out of his eye, trying to hide how much the boy’s words hurt him. Waving once more, he turned to walk away.

It shouldn’t have affected him so much. After all, not everyone in the world had to like Harry. That was simply impossible. But, something about the boy--and Harry didn’t even know his name--made him interesting. Someone Harry was sure he would want to spend hours getting to know.

Before he turned the corner, he heard a groan. “Come back,” the boy mumbled.

Harry turned, walking briskly back to the boy who was twisting his sweatshirt sleeve between his fingers. “I’m, er, sorry, I guess. Didn’t mean to be so harsh. It’s just...don’t have many friends out here, and I gotta be careful. Can’t trust everyone.”

Harry nodded. “I’m, uh, sorry if I made you uncomfortable, too. Just, can I know your name or something?”

The boy rolled his eyes. “It’s Louis, are y’happy now?”

Louis. Harry rolled the name over his tongue, smiling. “Thank you, Louis. ‘M Harry. Harry Styles.”

“Nice to meet you? I guess.” Louis picked up the paint cans leaning against Paxton’s house. “I’ve got to get going, though. Cops come by every hour and we’re cutting it close.”

“Wait, do you want to get coffee or something? I mean, or anything, really, but--”

“Jesus, kid, calm down.” Louis took a deep breath. “Um, coffee would be nice.”

Harry lead Louis back to his house, the two not making much conversation. The only sounds came from the clinking of Louis’ paint cans, or sniffles from Harry. When they reached the door, Harry let Louis in first, watching as the boy dropped his paint cans by the door and toed off his battered boots.

“Make yourself at home,” he began, flipping on the lights. “Living room’s that way, but we can just be in the sitting room which is right next to the kitchen, so easier access, y’know?”

Louis’ eyes grew wide. “How many rooms in this place?” He asked, voice quiet with awe.

Harry blushed. “Uh, I think only four bedrooms, plus three bathrooms, the living room, kitchen and sitting room, dining room, and study? Oh, and the patio out back.”

“Shit...and you live here alone? Waste of space, mate.” But, he followed Harry into the kitchen, gaping at the stainless steel and marble counters.

“Any sort of coffee you want? I’ve got flavored stuff, and mum got me a cappuccino machine a few years ago, but I’m not really sure how to use it? But I bet I could figure it out, I mean…” he trailed off, watching as Louis lounged back onto the couch in the sitting room.

“Honestly, a cup of tea would be just fine,” Louis replied.

Harry tore his eyes away from Louis stretching his arms up to flick on the kettle.

“English breakfast okay with you?” He asked, pouring the hot water into two mugs.

“Two sugars, thanks.”

After finishing the tea, Harry brought it over, ignoring the clock which read 3 in the morning. They sat in silence, sipping tea as Harry stole glances of Louis every once in a while.

“So, why did you really want me over here, if we’re not gonna talk?” Louis questioned, putting down his empty mug.

“Sorry, uh,” Harry mumbled, blushing again. “Well, uh, where are you from?”

“Yorkshire, you?”

“London.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

“Any siblings?” Harry inquired.

“Four little sisters.”

“I’ve got one older.”

“Oh. Cool.”

Silence.

Finally, Harry couldn’t take it. “Can’t we just have a conversation? Like, can you stop with this whole mysterious act?”

Louis sighed, rubbing his face. “Sorry, mate, honestly. It’s been awhile since I’ve talked to anyone, and it’s quite late if you haven’t noticed. It’s my fault, really.”

“No, I get it. I’m sorry if I’m pushing, I just want to chat, yeah?”

Louis smiled. “Okay, let’s chat.”

And they did. At first, it was mostly Harry talking, with interjections from Louis every once in a while, but soon Louis was adding as much information about himself.

Harry was endlessly fascinated. He learned about Louis growing up in a small town in Yorkshire, coming from a rough background, dropping out of university to support his family, leaving them when it became too expensive to feed another mouth. The pain in Louis’ eyes when he talked about how old his sisters were and how he hadn’t seen them in years was palpable.

And then, when they discussed the committee and Louis’s art, Harry was astounded by Louis’ knowledge and passion.

“It’s just, no one understands, yeah? Walking down the streets, the homeless are the people you ignore. You never really want to make eye contact with them, because it’s too painful of a reminder. So you ignore them. But for us, living on the streets, it’s hell. Do you know how awful it is to be treated as less than a person? Not even noticed, just a shadow in the background. Especially in a posh neighbourhood like this one. We just...fade into the background. And then with this new idea about the spikes, it’s just a reminder that they’re taking notice of us for the wrong reasons. Finally, everyone opens their eyes to the plight around them, and the only thing they want to do is kick us out. I’m just trying to get a little recompense.”

“I...that’s amazing. I mean, I’m sorry, that probably sounds really facetious or whatever, but, really. I never thought of it that way.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Louis scoffed, “you’ve never known anything other than this.” He motioned to the room around them.

As Harry followed his arm, he noticed the clock again. nearly six in the morning. “Shit, we’d really better get to bed. I mean, I don’t have class until three, but still.” He stood up, ignoring the way Louis had been leaning into his side.

Louis didn’t stand as quickly, though. He moved sluggishly, shoulders drooping. The fire had left his body, and he padded to the door without looking at Harry.

“Um, well thanks for this, I guess. It was really nice talking to you, and thanks for the tea.” He began to pull on his boots.

“Wait, where are you going?”

Louis looked up, confused. “Out? I mean, you said you wanted to go to bed…”

“No, I didn’t mean to kick you out!”

“I’m not going to fucking sleep with you just because you’re nice, y’know.” Louis’ brows were furrowed.

“No, I mean, of course not. That’s not what I meant. I just...I’ve got so much space, you even said it yourself. Why don’t you sleep here?”

“I don’t...I don’t want to take advantage or anything. Or be in debt to you,” Louis said warily, although he took off his boots again.

Harry nodded. “Of course. I just had such a nice time talking to you, and all.”

“Of course. Well, thanks, I guess.”

Harry set up one of the guest rooms for Louis and the awkward silence had returned from earlier. As if the pocket of comfort in the sitting room was just a dream, compared to the awkwardness of reality. He wishes Louis goodnight and returns to his own room, trying not to think about what the morning might be like.

When he woke, it was to the smell of bacon and eggs, and the sound of singing. Harry stumbled out of his room, checking his phone to see the time read two o’clock in the afternoon. In the kitchen, Louis was carefully watching the stove, flitting between pans and humming to himself, blushing when Harry walked in.

“Smells fantastic,” he said, smiling.

“As a thank you for last night. I might’ve underestimated you, Harry Styles, so here’s my apology breakfast.”

Harry grinned, taking a heaping plate from Louis and digging in. They chatted amicably, very little of the awkwardness surviving from the night before. All too soon, Harry’s alarm rang for class, making Louis jump.

“I’d better get going, yeah,” he said, clearing the plates.

“Would it be too forward of me to ask for your number?” Harry asked.

Louis rolled his eyes. “Harry, I don’t have a phone, haven’t for years, remember?”

Harry blushed. He had been so caught up in Louis he forgot about the world outside. The reason he had met Louis in the first place. “Oh, right. Um, well, will you stop by again? I want to keep seeing you.”

Louis turned his head, giving Harry a confused look. “You...you want to keep seeing me? In what way?”

“I dunno...I just don’t want to lose you. I mean, you’re beautiful and I want to know you more, but we can take it slow if you want?”

Louis’ face shuttered closed. Abruptly, he walked towards the door, pulling on his boots and gathering his paint cans.

“I’ve got to go,” he muttered, ignoring Harry’s questions. “Sorry.”

“Wait, Louis! What do you mean?” Harry followed him into the hall, watching him patter down the stairs with his hood pulled back up. “Louis!” He called one more time, barely considering the neighbours.

But Louis was gone. And Harry wouldn’t go running after him again, not if that wasn’t what Louis wanted. So Harry stood in his doorway, wondering what went wrong.

xx

He didn’t hear from Louis for two weeks. But in that two weeks, a lot had changed. He finally quit the Marylebone Neighbourhood Wellness Committee, causing Nick to throw him a party and promptly quit with him. After hearing Louis’ story, it just didn’t seem right to keep pretending he was on the right side of things, making a permanent difference. Instead, he spent more time in the city, volunteering and trying to change people’s minds about the spikes. He even spoke to his mother, asking her to get in contact with her friends and try to have a little more sway.

It was all well and good, except his house had never seemed more empty. Each night he would run through their conversation, wondering where he had messed up so horrendously. Did he pry too much? Call Louis beautiful? What had caused the boy to run?

There was no new graffiti around, and since the homeless spikes were starting to seem like a fading trend, Harry had no way to contact him.

Until, one night when it was raining, Harry heard a knock on his door. He opened it to find Louis standing in the hall, soaking wet like something out of a romance movie. Except, maybe not.

“Sorry to show up unannounced,” Louis said softly, wiping water off of his face.

“No, of course not. Um, come in. Do you want something dry to wear? I’ll wash your clothes for you, um, if you want to wait that long?”

Louis nodded. “It’d be nice to wear something dry, and clean, I guess.”

Harry rushed around, trying to ignore the questioning thoughts in his head and focus on getting Louis warm. He stood in the middle of the guest room, shivering, as Harry handed him a warm jumper and pair of sweats. When everything was calm, Louis’ clothes tumbling in the dryer, the two moved to the sitting room, an uncomfortable silence once again resting between them.

“I just--” Harry began.

“I want to apologize,” Louis cut in, looking at his hands. “I shouldn’t have just left like that. It wasn’t fair to you.”

“If...if I did something to make you uncomfortable,” Harry asked.

“No. I mean, kind of, but not really. It was just...I need to tell you something.” He took a deep breath, looking Harry in the eye. “I’m asexual, and I like you, but I don’t want a sexual relationship with you.”

Harry breathed out. “That’s like, not interested in sex, right?”

Louis nodded.

“Well, I, um, I still really like you? And I think you’re beautiful and interesting and that doesn’t really matter that much? I mean, you still like romance and stuff, right?”

“Yeah, just, most people...they don’t take it seriously. Or, they think I’m broken or something. I’ve had bad experiences in the past, and I didn’t want to string you along or anything.” His hands were shaking, and Harry gently reached out and took them, making eye contact with Louis to make sure it was okay.

“I want to make you happy. I want to learn about you and what you like and dislike, I want to help you do what you want and find your dreams. If we don’t have sex, we don’t have sex. That’s fine by me.”

“But I don’t want to be your dependent, either. Just because you have more money, I don’t want you to feel obligated to do anything. I’m not helpless.” He was looking down at their hands, squeezing a little tighter.

“Of course. Whatever...whatever makes you most comfortable. Do you think this could work?”

Louis looked up, smiling. His eyes were sparkling, a brighter blue than Harry had ever seen. “Yeah, I think we can work something out.”

Harry knew it wasn’t going to be perfect, but he would try his hardest to get as close as possible.


End file.
